We’re getting closer and closer to the 2020 election. You can feel it. And as Election Day draws nearer, one of the local shopkeepers felt compelled to post the sign pictured above.
The political types among us don’t understand this N.P.A. — No Politics Allowed — attitude. They could rail against President Trump, or make fun of “Sleepy Joe,” all day long — and all night long, too. They can’t get enough of the Politics with a capital “P,” and they want to make sure that everyone knows exactly where they stand. To them, nothing is more important. The very future of the country is at stake! They’re immersed in it, they’re fascinated by it, they follow every development avidly, and they just can’t help talking about it and hoping that someone will be persuaded by their passion.
But there’s a solid core of people out there who are in a different camp. They’ve got their political views, no doubt, but they don’t feel compelled to share them. They don’t want to get into arguments about the election. They may not find it all that interesting to hear people berate one candidate or the other, all the time, either. Heck, they’d rather talk about COVID-19 mask designs than politics. And they might also recognize that it’s very unpleasant to witness people get into a bitter political dispute — particularly if the people who are jawing at each other are patrons who are supposed to be enjoying a pleasant shopping experience.
So come in! Look around! Shop to your heart’s content! But please . . . keep those impassioned political opinions to yourself, will you? Please?
It’s Independence Day. As we recognize our oldest national holiday, dating back to before the country was even formally founded, no doubt many people are thinking that these are strange, difficult times, and are wondering just what the future may bring. We’ve experienced significant protests across the country — with “Black Lives Matter” signs being seen even on a small road in this remote corner of Maine — and in this presidential election year political passions are running high.
The spirit of unbridled protest has always run deep in this land. We’ve fought two civil wars in an effort to define and structure concepts of liberty and freedom, and we’ve experienced other periods where the vein of protest pulsed strongly. The country has seen the mass civil rights marches and Vietnam War protests of the ’60s, the women’s suffrage movement, the Prohibition and anti-Prohibition movements, and the organized labor movements in the late 1800s — and that’s just scratching the surface. Each of these protests has changed the country in some meaningful way, and there is no doubt that the current protests will, too. The spirit of protest is so important to this country that we have codified our right to protest in the very first provision of the Bill of Rights and specifically stripped Congress of the ability to make any law “abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.” People who wring their hands about protests simply don’t understand our history, or our institutions. In reality, protest is as American as apple pie.
We often think of the “Founding Fathers” as gentlemen with powdered hair in fancy dress who secured freedom just by signing the Declaration of Independence — the execution of which gives rise to the holiday that we celebrate today. From our vantage point, more than 240 years later, we tend to forget that country’s first civil war, which we now know as the Revolutionary War, was a harsh, bloody fight that occurred in a bitterly divided land — and the Founding Fathers in their silk stockings were the rebels.
Courtesy of a present from Richard, I’m reading an excellent book about the first part of the revolutionary period by Rick Atkinson, called The British Are Coming. One passage had particular resonance with me, in view of the period we are currently living through:
“John Adams, never taciturn, later would be quoted as saying, ‘I would have hanged my own brother had he taken part with our enemy in the contest.’
“Few were hanged, at least not yet; incivility rarely turned to bestiality. But no one could say how brutal the war would become. Conformity, censorship, and zealotry now flourished. Even small sins, such as ‘speaking diminutively of the country congress,’ might be punished with forced public apologies, boycotts, ostracism, or property confiscation. A mild word of praise for the British government–or simply being suspected of thinking loyal thoughts–could provoke a beating. Militias served as a political constabulary, bolstered by the Continental Army. When Queens County, a loyalist stronghold on Long Island, voted 788 to 221 against sending representatives to the provincial congress, the names of those in the majority were published in the newspaper; they were forbidden to travel, hire a lawyer, or practice a trade. More than a thousand militiamen and Continentals then swept through Queens, arresting opposition leaders, seizing weapons and extracting allegiance oaths–except from the 250 obdurate men who fled into the swamps to await General Howe’s arrival.
Such measures spread.”
In short, there is nothing new under the sun, and we’ve been through these kinds of challenging periods–in fact, much more challenging periods–before. Reading accurate histories of America would provide reassurance on that point. Unfortunately, airbrushing history has also been a tradition in this country. How many of us who went through the American school system were taught of the horrendous Tulsa, Oklahoma race massacre of 1921, or of lynchings, or the role of the Ku Klux Klan in subjugating African Americans — or for that matter the egregious history of lies, broken promises and mistreatment of indigenous Americans, Chinese immigrants, or other ethnic groups, or the Japanese internment camps that were created during World War II? Those terrible racist episodes are as much a part of American history, and our ability to gain a true and complete understanding of our country, as the lofty pronouncements in the Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights, and the Emancipation Proclamation. Those of us who were taught that America’s history is an unbroken story of freedom, liberty, and fairness in service to the world were not told the whole story. We deserved the truth, but we didn’t get it.
I hope that that will be one of the positive impacts of these current protests. We can only fully grasp the meaning and complexity of American history, and the true importance of crucial historical figures, if we take an unvarnished view of their lives and understand their faults, flaws, and failings as well as their successes. I hope that the exercise of First Amendment freedoms that we are seeing in these protests ensures that American history is never sanitized again and the full story — good, bad, and ugly — is told from here on out.
The exercise of our freedoms is something worth celebrating. Happy Fourth of July, everyone!
The press paid a lot of attention to the American people being out and about over the weekend. In California, the media focused on people flocking to southern California beaches to surf, get some sun, and otherwise do what the Beach Boys told us people do on California beaches. In New York, there were reports of lots of people out and about in Central Park. Here in Columbus, we got some pretty spring days after a series of cold gloomy ones, and that caused a lot of people to get outside, too.
None of this should be a surprise. When the weather warms up in the spring, people naturally want to get outside and enjoy it, whether they live in California or Kalamazoo. But these aren’t normal times, thanks to the coronavirus, and the press attention was all about people flouting governmental orders and not engaging in social distancing.
For the most part, I think Americans, and Ohioans, have done a pretty darned good job of abiding by unprecedented governmental orders. For most of us who haven’t been sent to prison and didn’t experience governmental rationing or curfew orders during World War II, the coronavirus edicts are the biggest and most detailed governmental intrusions into our normal daily lives that we’ve ever experienced. Given the history of contrarianism in the U.S., you’d expect there to be some resistance, but for the most part people have yielded, and accepted the need for the government efforts. No one — and I mean no one — wants to kill people or see the country decimated by a fatal pandemic.
But government leaders need to understand that they can’t move the goalposts on us, either. When the shutdown orders were first issued, they were presented as necessary to “flatten the curve,” protect health care resources from being overwhelmed, and give government time to shore up ventilator and mask supplies. All of that has now been accomplished — and yet some are arguing that the restrictive orders should continue until . . . when or what, exactly? I think many people have the sense that we’ve experienced a bait and switch, and the switch is happening right now. The goalposts seem to be moving from flattening the curve to some point in the future that is more ambiguous and ill-defined — as if some government leaders and modelers and health care experts will “know it when they see it” and let the rest of us in on their decision at their leisure. That perception is not exactly a recipe for broad societal compliance.
The sense of “quarantine fatigue” is real and, I think, is shared by many. Part of it is people getting antsy, and part of it is spring fever, but I think part of it is just the notion that we weigh and accept risk as a matter of course, and build those risk-assessment decisions into our daily lives. If you drive to work or take a driving vacation, you are increasing your risk of death in a traffic accident. If you live in a house with a staircase, you are increasing your risk of a fatal fall. But the government would never think (I hope) of banning driving, or multi-story family homes, or any of the other risks that we encounter and accept on a daily basis.
We all know, intuitively, that we can’t stay sheltering in place forever. We need to get back to work and, equally important, to being permitted the freedom to make rational risk-weighing decisions about our lives. If seniors who have health conditions and are in nursing homes are at high risk, by all means come up with tailored methods to protect them from COVID-19. If wearing masks in subways has a discernible positive effect, by all means require them. And if some people are so worried about the coronavirus that they want to work from home until a vaccine is successfully developed and they have a job that allows them to do so, fine. But the sooner the government stops trying to ban people who have been penned up for 40 days from congregating outside on a beautiful warm day and starts communicating where we are right now and letting people make reasonable risk decisions, the better.
We’ve been watching the excellent HBO mini-series The Plot Against America. It’s a gripping, well-acted, and very difficult to watch story that is part of the “alternative history” genre.
In the show, Charles Lindbergh — still a hero to millions for his solo flight across the Atlantic years before — decides to run for President in 1940 on an isolationist platform. Lucky Lindy barnstorms across the country in the Spirit of St. Louis, giving the same short speech about America’s choice being between Lindbergh and war. Lindbergh surprisingly defeats FDR, and the result is catastrophic for American Jews generally, and one Jewish family in particular, as the country slides into a cozy relationship with the Nazis, fascism, and virulent anti-Semitism. (And I haven’t had the chance to watch the last episode yet, so no spoilers here.)
It’s a difficult show to watch, of course, because no one wants to see the kind of America depicted on the show — but as I watched I found myself thinking about the role of Nazi Germany in the alternative history genre of fiction. So many books and shows revolve around “what if” questions in which the Germans win World War II — The Man in the High Castle is one recent example — that it almost seems as if Nazism was responsible for the creation of the alternative history genre in the first place. And it’s interesting that, of all of the potential turning points of history, World War II seems to be the source of far more interest than others. There might be alternative histories written about “what if” worlds in which, say, the British won the War of 1812, or the Kaiser emerged victorious in World War I, but if so there aren’t many of them, and they’ve remained in obscurity. The Nazis, in contrast, always seem to take center stage.
Why, exactly, do the Nazis command so much more interest and attention? Part of it is that their creed and philosophies were so murderous, hateful, and outlandish that it’s hard to believe that they controlled a country and were able to launch and fight a global war, and implement the Holocaust, less than 100 years ago. There’s a certain amazement about the fact that it happened, and that the Nazis actually existed in an era of automobiles and planes and telephones. That still-shocking realization gives a powerful narrative punch to alternative history stories about what might have happened had those terrible, soulless murderers won, even 80 years after the Nazis were hurled into the dustbin of history.
Whenever I see or read an alternative history about a Nazi triumph and what it would have meant for the United States, I’m always reminded of a quote from Tom Wolfe in the ’70s, when he observed that “the dark night of fascism is always descending in the United States and yet lands only in Europe.” In short, people have long loved to predict that America is teetering on the brink of fascism and totalitarian repression. World War II, perhaps, was the closest those predictions came to being realized. Part of the reason that the Nazi alternative history genre is so crowded may be that the Nazis are a storytelling device that allows people to imagine that fascist America that has for so long been predicted, but has never come to pass.
I doubt that The Plot Against America will be the last alternative history in which America has fallen in World War II and fascism reigns in the former land of the free and home of the brave — and that’s OK. Depictions of what a fascist America might look like helps us to keep our guard up. That’s a big part of the reason that the “dark night of fascism” has never landed on our shores.
As of today, the Times reports 34,726 deaths from COVID-19 in the U.S. — and fully half of those are in New York and New Jersey alone. The incidence and mortality rates in those states are orders of magnitude higher than in other areas. And it’s not the entire state of New York that is producing those staggering numbers, either. Instead, the hot zone is for the most part limited to New York City and neighboring communities.
In fact, if you cut the New York City metropolitan area numbers out of the equation, you find that the per capita numbers for the rest of America are far less alarming than the overall numbers, and much more in line with the data reported from other countries. The vast disparity in the virulence and transmission of the coronavirus in the New York City area, compared to the rest of the country, is compelling support for making decisions on reopening the country and the economy on a state-by-state, locality-by-locality basis.
It seems entirely plausible that subways could be a contributor to New York City’s bad coronavirus statistics. If you’ve ever ridden the subway, you know that the platforms and cars are crowded, with people packed together, sharing metal poles as they steady themselves against the jostling of the cars, and also sharing limited breathing space. The social distancing being practiced in other parts of the country just isn’t possible. And, in my experience, the subway cars aren’t kept spotlessly clean, either. If you compare that method of transportation to the “car culture” that prevails in other parts of the country, where most people travel in their own vehicles with windows closed, it could provide an explanation for at least part of the disparity in the coronavirus data. At the very least, it is a possible cause and hypothesis that should be fully evaluated.
This is a hot-button issue, because New York City’s subway system is a primary source of transportation for hundreds of thousands of commuters every day, and if the subways are — after careful study and analysis, of course — determined to be a vector for transmission of COVID-19, that will dramatically complicate the process of reopening the Big Apple. And mass transit is a political issue, as well, and there is a risk that political considerations will affect taking a hard look at the public health issues related to subway use and operations in the wake of the coronavirus crisis.
Unfortunately, we’ve seen that our political officials can’t resist playing politics even in a time of global pandemic. But at some point, public health considerations should trump petty political posturing. We need to figure out why NYC is such a huge outlier, and then take steps to make sure that the causes for the disparity are properly addressed so that people in New York — and in the rest of the country — are protected the next time a virus sweeps across the world.
Once people started to accept that the coronavirus really was serious and dangerous, and not just some grossly exaggerated boogeyman like so many over-hyped diseases of past years, they stopped doing what they were doing — even before government orders took effect, and even as to conduct that government orders still permit. And when the American consumer, the primary cog in the greatest economic engine in the history of the world, decides to change course, as a group, the consequences are profound. The dominoes started falling, businesses saw sharp drop-offs in orders, and the unemployment rate ratcheted upward to levels we haven’t seen since the Great Depression.
And that’s where we are. There’s still a lot of fear out there — among some people, at least — and that needs to be dealt with as part of the reopening process. The author of the piece linked above contends that what we really need to deal with that general sense of fear is widespread availability of protective masks, and also widespread availability of reliable COVID-19 testing. The masks may have a good effect toward preventing transmission of the disease when people are out in public, but they also may just make people feel safer, more secure, and more willing to go out to a store rather than ordering everything they might need through Amazon Prime. Masks thus may have a tangible public health effect, but also a kind of calming placebo effect. Some of the other steps that governmental guidance has outlined for reopening businesses — like having people coming to work take their temperatures — also seems like it will help to build confidence that going out in public doesn’t involve crushing risk.
The testing is equally important, because it might finally provide us with the data that will give us a real sense of just what the coronavirus is, how many people have it or have already had it, and what its mortality rate truly is. And while it might be fun, politically, to castigate our political leaders for not having millions of tests readily available for a disease that was totally unknown until a few months ago, I don’t see the value in playing the blame game. Once most testing is done — and particularly more random testing of the general population, rather than testing only those people who already are in extremis physically — we’ll have a better sense of the real risks of a return to normalcy.
One of our greatest Presidents, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, famously told the American people in the midst of the Great Depression that “we have nothing to fear but fear itself.” That admonition seems apt as we move into the post-shutdown phase of the Great Coronavirus Crisis of 2020. If we’re going to get the economy going, help people who have been thrown out of work, and bring the unemployment rate down, a lot of frightened people are going to have to conquer their fears and accept the risks inherent with doing things like shopping and eating in public. Having better data — and better reporting of data — will help.
Kish and I have watched some of the federal coronavirus task force briefings. I know they are a flash point for many people. Some people hate the President’s bombastic, promotional approach to presenting information and answering questions, and others react viscerally to the pugnacious inquiries that members of the White House press corps throw at him. But we want to get overall information about how things are going, and the briefings are the most direct way to accomplish that — and if we have to swallow bombast and some combative exchanges with journalists in the process, so be it.
The best and most interesting parts of the briefings, in our view, happen after the parts that the news media focuses on, when the President and the Vice President turn things over to the COVID-19 task force members and other officials who are managing parts of the response to the coronavirus. There’s no doubt that President Trump has a huge ego, but to his credit he is quite willing to share the White House podium with other officials, and he lets them directly take and answer questions, too. As a result, we get to see and learn about the real people who are dealing, every day, with this maelstrom.
And we also typically get to hear from other people in the alphabet soup of federal agencies that are found throughout the executive branch of the national government. We’ve heard from the heads of the Department of the Treasury, the Department of Labor, the Small Business Administration, the Centers for Disease Control, and the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services, the Navy admiral tasked with managing the logistics headaches in supplying the “hot spots” with masks and gloves and ventilators from the federal stockpile, and Vice President Mike Pence, who supervises the task force — and that’s just scratching the surface. Because the impact of the coronavirus is so broad, if you watch the daily briefings you’re bound to see and hear from somebody new who is dealing with some specific aspect of the federal response to the coronavirus.
For those who reflexively dismiss “bureaucrats,” the briefings are probably a real eye-opener. The people who stand behind the podium, provide us with up-to-the-minute and detailed information, and then answer questions forthrightly all come across as smart, experienced, well-spoken, knowledgeable people who are motivated by a sincere desire to do the best job they possibly can to help the country through an extraordinary crisis. And the briefings are a good way to see what the federal government brings to bear in a crisis: not just stockpiles of ventilators and doses of medication and an Army Corps of Engineers that can throw up thousand-bed hospitals in the blink of an eye, but also lots of capable, hard-working people with undoubted expertise who can be trusted to tackle a problem and execute a plan.
The coronavirus pandemic has been a weird learning experience in more ways that we can count, but through these daily briefings and the direct statements of task force members we’ve gotten a peek behind the bureaucratic curtain to see those people who are at ground zero of our national response. It’s been interesting, and reassuring. Say what you will about the “deep state,” and criticize President Trump’s managerial style all you want, but if you watch those briefings I think you’ll come away impressed by the sprawling team that is trying to navigate our country through an unprecedented public health crisis. I have been, at least.
Amidst all of the focus on the federal government government and its response to the coronavirus pandemic, many people have forgotten that, in our system of government, it is the states that have the power to make the truly important decisions. They’re about to be reminded about that.
The response to COVID-19 has actually been a good illustration of how America is supposed to work — and why we’re called the United States in the first place. The federal government can offer guidance, and can coordinate how the national stockpiles of ventilators and masks and hospital gowns are distributed among the states according to need and forecasts, but it is the states, each a separate sovereign government with a separate sphere of responsibility, that have made the really big decisions about how to deal with the scourge of COVID-19.
Having a state-centric approach is unnerving to some people, who think centralized decision-making is by definition better decision-making. Having the states act as “laboratories of democracy” in deciding how to reopen after a pandemic seems like the right approach to me, however. The United States is a big country, and conditions differ significantly from state to state, in ways that are directly relevant to dealing with shutdown orders and pandemics. Some states are rural, some are industrial. Some states are densely populated, and some are so wide open it’s breathtaking. It makes no sense that Wyoming, say, should be on the same timetable as New York or subject to the same requirements as New York. In reality, governors and state officials know their states far better than federal officials ever could, and they can and will make decisions that are tailored to the needs of their specific constituents.
We should all pay attention, because we’re getting a real-life, real-time civics lesson — and the lessons will continue in the coming days and weeks. If the national news media is smart, they’ll start paying a little more attention to the different states and how those state officials are deciding how to restart things.
As I’ve taken walks around Schiller Park over the last few days, I’ve noticed that people are interested in publicly expressing their collective community spirit. The above sign appeared in the window of the Hausfrau Haven, and I’ve seen similar messages chalked onto sidewalks — like “#RallyColumbus.” It’s all part of an effort by the common folk to show some mutual support, and let their fellow citizens know that we’re all in this together, and that together we will get through our coronavirus trial.
I’m confined to the German Village area, of course, so I can’t say for sure, but I suspect that the signs and sidewalk messages I’ve seen here are just the very small tip of a much larger iceberg that can be found across the country. Americans have a way of coming together during difficult times, helping each other out, and working to lift each others’ spirits. Our political representatives might fight like the gingham dog and the calico cat, but the people stand together during the tough times — and messages that express that sentiment in a tangible way, for all to see, really help. And, of course, there’s a lot more that we can’t see publicly that also reflects a fighting, mutually supportive spirit, like texts among groups of friends and co-workers and e-mail chains and virtual get-togethers and Facebook memes.
The attitude of toughness and resiliency makes me think of one of my favorite Beatles’ songs and video snippets, which appeared at the end of the Yellow Submarine film — All Together Now. Let’s hope that we can maintain that ‘tude, and it will carry us through.
According to the press, Mike Bloomberg spent somewhere between $500 million and $700 million of his considerable person fortune on his quest for the 2020 Democratic Party nomination for President. We got these two direct mail pieces in the afternoon mail today — a few hours after Hizzoner withdrew from the race.
The two pieces are nice, professionally done, very sturdy mailers. It seems a shame to let them go to waste, so I’m going to keep them to help light our first outdoor fire pit fire of the season this coming weekend.
I wonder if Mayor Bloomberg feels like he threw that $700 million into a fire pit, too?
In Ohio, where the primary won’t occur until next month, the concern isn’t about apps, caucus rules, or complicated vote-counting procedures. Instead, some people are questioning whether the turnout in Ohio elections should cause Ohio to address a more fundamental issue: the process for registering to vote and then voting.
But, what causes low turnout? The ACLU director rejects the possibility that some citizens simply lack interest, and instead contends that Ohio’s procedures discourage participation. He advocates for abolishing the Ohio requirement that voters register at least 30 days before an election in favor of allowing “same day” registration and voting, and argues that would-be voters should be able to register at Ohio Bureau of Motor Vehicles offices. He also supports making sure that early voting — a process that Ohio already follows — provides for ample evening and weekend hours and simple absentee procedures to allow people who work two jobs, live in remote areas, are homebound, or are serving in the armed forces overseas to cast their ballots without a hassle.
I’m in favor of taking a fresh look at Ohio’s procedures and auditing the elections in other states that have different procedures to see whether Ohio’s processes can be simplified and improved. I have to admit, however, that I’m leery of same day registration and voting, which seems like a recipe for Election Day chaos and potential fraud — and therefore I’m particularly interested at an objective look at how that option has worked in other states. I also wonder at the most fundamental premise in the ACLU director’s article: if a voter can’t be bothered to register at least 30 days before an election, is it really the procedure that is keeping that voter from the polls, or is it good old-fashioned voter apathy, instead?
The debacle leaves the Iowa caucus organizers with a huge black eye, and is tremendously unfair to the candidates who endured so many debates and put so much time and effort into the process, hoping for a result that would lift their campaigns and give them that coveted momentum going forward. Instead, the fiasco left nothing but a muddled mess and confusion in its wake, with no clear winner except the conspiracy theorists who wondered whether some foreign government was trying to interfere in the 2020 election or whether Democratic Party leaders were trying to tinker with the results so favored candidates would prevail.
It’s incredible that, in 2020, an American state cannot promptly report accurate results from an political selection process, but maybe there’s a silver lining in all of this and the political parties will ultimately choose to make lemonade from this year’s Iowa lemon. Two choices make sense to me.
First, get rid of the Iowa caucus — something that many people are now calling for or predicting. Iowa follows a weird process that isn’t like an election as most of us understand an election, where we go into a voting booth and cast a secret ballot, or vote absentee, without following convoluted rules that leave people arguing with each other in a high school gym or fire station. The evening caucus process also isn’t welcoming to participation by working people with family obligations. Moreover, Iowa isn’t exactly a representative state — nor is New Hampshire. Rather than adhering to antique notions of who should be first, perhaps political leaders will use the Iowa caucus mayhem as a reason to take a fresh look at the whole process and try to develop a rational approach.
Second, it’s time to call a halt to efforts to be more “cutting edge” in the use of technology in our electoral processes. Elections don’t need to be as easy as summoning an Uber ride. It’s clear that at least part of the problem in Iowa was due to rolling out new and insufficiently tested tech, rather than going with tried and true methods. Using apps and cellphones in elections just raises more concerns about hacking and spoofing and electoral interference, anyway. How about holding an election the old-fashioned way, with volunteers and voting machines, so that we can have some assurance that everyone knows what they are doing and the results can be counted and released within hours, rather than days?
The 2020 Iowa Democratic caucus isn’t the worst thing that has happened in the history of American politics, but it can be viewed as an opportunity to bring some order to the American electoral calendar and the hodge-podge of processes being used. Will there be adults in the room who will decide it’s finally time to seize that opportunity?
Facebook can be pretty jarring these days. You’re scrolling through posts about your friend’s great trip to Italy, or the impressive honor a colleague received from her alma mater, or the fine paintings other friends have created, or pictures of kids and dogs and home remodeling projects . . . and then suddenly you’re confronted with overt political ads. They stick out like a sore thumb.
Consider this Facebook ad for former NYC Mayor Mike Bloomberg that appeared on my news feed recently. He apparently has bought ad time for the Super Bowl game, but he wants to encourage people to go to some other page to see the ad even before game time — and as a result the friends on Facebook have to see this crudely photo-shopped image of a grim Mayor Mike staring into the distance, sleeves rolled up as politico sleeves always are, towering over a football stadium, with his foot on a football. It’s like a gigantic political selfie. (And it might be tone deaf, besides — if you’re a football fan, you certainly don’t think that anyone is bigger than the game itself, and if you’re not a football fan, you probably don’t want anyone to remind you that the Super Bowl will be dominating water cooler conversations come Monday.)
Facebook has always been a political forum of sorts, as people have posted comments and memes about the political events of the day. But we seem to have moved into a new era where it’s not just Facebook friends posting their political views, but also the candidates themselves barging into your news feed. It’s like a group of people standing and talking and minding their own business when an overly caffeinated campaign volunteer butts in and starts pushing fliers into your hand and talking about how awful the opposing candidate is. To me, at least, overt Facebook political ads like Mayor Mike’s Super Bowl Selfie seem awfully intrusive, and not effective for that reason.
As time has passed Facebook has become a lot more commercialized and ad-oriented, and now it’s becoming more politicized, too. I prefer the old dog and kid photo days.
Jessica Pels: You knew this was coming. What is your skincare routine?
Elizabeth Warren: Pond’s Moisturizer.
Jessica Pels: That’s a good one.
Elizabeth Warren: Every morning, every night. And I never wash my face.
Jessica Pels: Wow.
Elizabeth Warren: Nope, nope.
Jessica Pels: You’re one of those.
Elizabeth Warren: Yeah, I am.
Jessica Pels: That’s a very French thing.
Weirdly, the Q&A on the Senator’s skincare habits has drawn as much attention as anything else in the interview, with some people expressing mystification at the fact that she evidently never washes her face. I’m not really qualified to comment on somebody’s skincare routine, although I seem to remember seeing my mother and grandmothers dipping into a little jar of Pond’s cold cream now and then.
Apparently Cosmopolitan asks the skincare question to all of the candidates, male and female, and if you’re interested you can see the answers given so far here. You’ll be stunned to learn that Senator Bernie Sanders doesn’t do much in the skincare area. (I would have thought he would need to apply a mild form of sandblasting to those leathery jowls, frankly.) And Joe Biden hasn’t been quizzed on the skincare topic yet, so we don’t know whether, as I suspect, he regularly applies something to that porcelain visage to make sure that it doesn’t crack.
Seriously, though — do we need to ask political candidates these kinds of intrusive, personal questions? I’m sure some would argue that it humanizes them, and I suppose the barrier was forever broken when some unduly curious person asked Bill Clinton whether he wore boxers or briefs. I, for one, don’t need to know about that, or skincare routines, or shaving techniques, or preferred deodorants. I think we’d all be better off if we left a little respectful distance between ourselves and the everyday personal routines of the people seeking higher office. Ask them about their positions, look into their backgrounds and public activities, and explore their voting records all you want — but can’t we leave a respectful zone of privacy in the skincare and personal hygiene areas?
I’ve thought a bit about what my New Year’s resolution for 2020 should be, and I’ve decided it really is pretty simple: my resolution is to try to make it to the end of 2020 without irretrievably alienating any of my friends or family.
This may sound like an easy resolution to keep, but I don’t think it is — not really. In fact, I think 2020 is going to be one of the toughest years, ever, to get through while keeping your coterie of friends, family, and colleagues intact. That’s because, in this already absurdly super-heated political environment, we’re moving into a year where there will be a presidential campaign, a presidential election, and, apparently, an impeachment trial — all percolating at the same time. Many of my friends and family members, of all political stripes, feel very passionately about each of those events in isolation. When you put them all together you’ve got what is probably the most combustible combination of political events in American history.
One year that might be comparable is 1864, when a presidential election took place in the midst of a Civil War, when even the Union, alone, was bitterly divided. But even 1864 might not really be a good comparator, because in those days the candidates and the country as a whole didn’t need to run a gauntlet of caucuses, primaries, debates, and 24-hour news coverage. Unfortunately, we’ll be subjected to all of those things.
Our current circumstances have produced the kind of fervent environment where one ill-chosen word or ill-advised joke could damage feelings beyond repair, end a friendship that has endured for decades, or cause family members to vow never to talk to each other or interact again. I don’t want that to happen. I like and respect all of my family members and friends, and I’d like to end 2020 without experiencing any regrets that some stupid blog post, social media comment, or argument after a few adult beverages wrecked things. So this year will be a year of walking on eggshells, with all things dealing with the presidential election off-limits for me. Call me a wimp if you want.
This is my own, self-imposed pledge. I’m not going to shush my friends or try to keep them from expressing their strongly held views in strongly phrased ways. But as for me, I value my friends and family more than I value my need to engage in political debates.